


Late Night Watercolors

by clowderforce



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Adolescent Sexuality, Body Paint, M/M, Praise Kink, Sexual Content, Sexual Experimentation, Temperature Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-05 00:30:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12179469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clowderforce/pseuds/clowderforce
Summary: Hot, sweaty, and sleep-deprived, Yusuke and Akira find a way to cool down in the oppressive summer heat.





	Late Night Watercolors

It’s hotter than Belphegor’s shadowy demonic ass-crack in Leblanc’s attic tonight. 

Akira sits back in his chair, stripped down to his boxers, and tries repeatedly to beat the final boss of Punch Ouch. Sweat droplets bead on his forehead as he mashes the buttons, giving all the effort he can muster to take Mr. Nightmare down with his pixelated boxing gloves. He fails.

Tired, uncomfortable, and unable to focus, Akira admits defeat for now. He switches off the game console and places the controller on top of the old cathode monitor. It’s humid as balls. For what isn’t the first time tonight, he briefly considers breaking down and ordering a damn air conditioner online. Knowing his luck, though, the heat wave would dissipate the second it arrived. Instead, he decides, he will blow that money on firearm replicas at Iwai’s next time he goes out. Priorities.

It’s August twenty… something, he guesses, having long since lost track of the date. Right now, the Phantom Thieves are stuck in a waiting game. He’s really,  _ really _ hoping that Futaba wakes up in time to take care of that whole Medjed threat thing, but otherwise, there’s nothing keeping the group busy. Without school to attend, a Palace to ransack, or any new leads in Mementos, the past few days of summer vacation have become a blur of video games, casual hangouts, and part-time work. Akira doesn’t particularly mind this. However, it’s difficult to appreciate free time when you’re dying of heatstroke.

Ann and Ryuji had taken off to catch the last subway of the night a while ago. Therefore, Akira deduces, it’s some time after midnight. He guesses it’s probably around two or three in the morning, not that it matters much -- after all this time off, his sleep schedule’s become so messed up that linear time has more or less become meaningless. He’s already tried shuffling off to bed a couple of times, but he’s still not quite tired enough yet to sleep through the oppressive heat. That, and Morgana’s zonked out on his pillow. He doesn’t want to wake him, mostly just to avoid being lectured about staying up too late.

He looks over at Yusuke. He’s been in the same spot for hours, camped out in front of his easel in the corner of the room. Like Akira, he’s also clad in just his underwear, getting what little relief from the heat he can from a clunky plastic box fan next to him. His most recent canvas has sat blank for a little while, now. For a moment, Akira thinks that maybe he’s fallen asleep at his stool with his eyes open, but the occasional tapping foot and hum of indecision indicate otherwise. It’s bizarrely comforting, knowing that he’s not the only one failing to get some sleep in this bullshit weather. 

Come to think of it, Yusuke’s been hanging out at Leblanc fairly often recently. He hasn’t gone home to the dorms in three, maybe four days now. Akira’s fine with it, so long as he remembers to bathe and Boss doesn’t get pissed. It’s nice having the company, even if he mostly just stares at his easel. If he were being honest with himself, he would admit that he misses Yusuke when he’s not around. He might even admit that he’s charmed by the struggling young artist, maybe even has a bit of a crush. Unfortunately, though, feelings are messy, and as such, he buries them nice and deep so he can deal with them later.

Right now, though, what really has Akira’s attention is that box fan. The thought of a nice cold air conditioner haunts his dreams, even though he knows he will ultimately cheap out on buying it. Tonight, though, some moving air seems like the next best alternative. It will do, he decides, as he heads over towards Yusuke. He plops down onto his stomach, scooting himself into the direct path of the fan. He soaks in the nice breeze, taking what little relief he can from the heat. His head starts to feel heavy, and he rests his chin on his arms. It’s slightly uncomfortable, but he just might be tired enough to fall asleep anyway. He closes his eyes.

Just as he starts to drift off, however, Yusuke drops his paintbrush on the floor and lets out a melodramatic sigh. “It’s no use,” he says, his voice morose. He slumps over on his stool, utterly defeated.

Akira stirs a bit and opens an eye to look at him. “What’s no use?” he mumbles.

Yusuke looks down at him, completely unfazed by his half-naked friend lying on the floor near his feet. “Inspiration has failed me tonight,” he says simply, hanging his head.

From here, Akira can see Yusuke’s long, doe-like lashes, and the way his disheveled hair frames his face. His skin, covered in a light sheen of sweat, glows in the dim attic lighting, with the heat leaving a soft flush on his cheeks. He’s so pretty, Akira thinks. Normally, this line of thought would leave him feeling very flustered and self-conscious, but right now, he doesn’t care. He’s too warm and too tired to think about it critically. The gay panic can wait until the morning, he decides. 

Come to think of it, Yusuke looks pretty exhausted, too. He’s been just about as faithful to maintaining a rigid sleeping schedule as Akira has been (which is to say, not at all), and the consecutive nights of staying up late are beginning to catch up to him. His eyes are bloodshot and lined with dark circles, and his posture is even more crooked than usual. “You should sleep,” Akira says, followed by a big yawn.

Yusuke shakes his head, visibly trying not to catch the yawn from him. “I can’t. I told myself that I would paint  _ something _ before I go to bed.”

Akira groans. “You’ve been staring at that easel for hours. Just swipe on a few dots of paint, label it modern art, and call it a night.”

Yusuke gapes at him, aghast. “And waste my last canvas? Are you joking?”

“Dude, you can just go get another one.”

Yusuke clenches his hand -- rather pathetically, as it’s three in the goddamn morning and he’s clearly too tired to make a proper fist -- and shakes his head again. “I cannot. I have used the last of last week’s stipend on restocking my paints.”

Akira blinks. Maybe that’s why Yusuke hasn’t gone back to the dorms in a few days. Knowing him, he probably didn’t even save enough money for the subway fare. Idiot. He grins, reminding himself to sneak a few bills into his wallet while he’s asleep. “Sucks to be you,” he says.

Yusuke nods, completely absorbed in his self-pity and unaware of Akira’s teasing. “I think that’s what’s hindering my creative process. I’m too worried that I’m going to ruin this canvas, or come up with a better idea while I’m in the middle of painting it. What if I’m struck with inspiration? Then I’ll have to cover it up and wait for it to dry before I could start over! And by then, my muse might be completely gone and I’ll be stuck with nothing to show for it! It’s agonizing!”

Akira knows better than to tell Yusuke to chill out, so he gives him a sympathetic “hmm.” His eye catches on the glass of water next to Yusuke’s paints, mostly untouched. It’s dripping with condensation, and the ice cubes clink softly together as Yusuke taps his heel impatiently on the floor. The glass sits dangerously close to the coffee mug filled with dirty paint water -- Akira has a feeling that if Yusuke were actually painting anything this evening, he might have absentmindedly mixed up the two at some point. It looks tantalizing, though. Perhaps at some point he’ll get up off the floor and swig it down, since Yusuke’s clearly not making any use of it. Not now, though. Not thirsty enough. Too lazy.

“What should I do?” Yusuke asks, his eyes alight with an unexpected intensity that catches Akira off guard. A blush creeps up across his cheeks, and suddenly he’s thankful for the swampy atmosphere he can blame it on. He now feels an entirely different kind of thirst.

“I dunno, just use me as a canvas?” Akira blurts out with a cheesy wink, then recoils inwardly. Oh, god. He just flirted. He really shouldn’t be allowed to talk to people late at night when he has no filter. He looks away from Yusuke, mentally willing himself to sink through the floor. The floor grants him no such blessing. Why didn’t he just go to bed before his sleep addled brain could get him in trouble?

Yusuke, bless him, appears not to notice Akira’s internal crisis. Rather, he seems to be considering the idea. He crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ll admit, I like the concept,” he says. “I’m intrigued by the idea of using a temporary medium to create a fleeting moment of beautiful impermanence…”

“Y-yeah, that’s totally what I was thinking,” Akira says, trying to keep his cool.

“However, I don’t think I can justify painting in such a manner. I can’t afford to waste my paints on whimsical experiments when I need to use them for my summer projects. Perhaps another time when money is less tight?” Yusuke suggests.

“Sure,” Akira says. He’s slightly relieved that Yusuke has given him an out, whether intentional or not. At the same time, though, he can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment. He certainly wouldn’t mind taking up all of Yusuke’s attention, having that dreamy gaze on him as he drags the paint brush against his skin… Against his better judgement, he finds himself making another suggestion. “How about you just use water instead of paint? That way you could really build on that idea of impermanence.”

Yusuke hums in approval. “Now that’s a thought,” he says. “A brilliant suggestion. Not only do I get to conserve my paints and canvas, but I can also draw inspiration from the exquisite shape of your body.”

Akira’s stomach does a flip.  _ Exquisite…?  _ He debates whether it’s just artist-speak, or if this is just Yusuke’s roundabout way of admitting his attraction. It’s probably the former, but...

Before he can think too much on it, though, Yusuke’s standing up and grabbing the mug of paint water. He pauses for a second, and puts it back down. “Would you prefer I use the ice water? It might feel nicer than the room temperature one in this heat.” He gives him an encouraging smile, one that makes him melt. Damn him.

Akira swallows hard, his mouth dry. “That’s awful considerate of you. Now who’s the one with the brilliant suggestions?” he says, with a nervous smile. They’re doing this. Fuck, they’re actually doing this. He actively tries not to implode from embarrassment as Yusuke kneels down next to him, placing the glass of ice water on the floor with a gentle thump. He’s painfully aware of how close they are.

Yusuke pauses. “Are you alright?” he asks, with a concerned tilt of his head. “You look quite rigid.”

Yeah, rigid. One could say that. Other than the uncomfortable and persistent sexual tension he’s trying to ignore, he’s doing pretty okay, though. He relaxes his muscles and tries to let go of the tightness in his body. It’s just a late night water painting experiment. Nothing weird about this, right? “Yeah, I’m fine,” he says, keeping his voice as casual as possible. “Go for it.”

“Very well,” Yusuke says. He swirls the paint brush around in the water, the ice cubes clinking around in the glass as he stirs. He holds the brush over Akira, preparing to make his first stroke, when a drop of cold water falls from the brush tip onto his upper back.

A shiver flutters up Akira’s spine, goosebumps prickling on his skin. As unexpected and chilly as the droplet is, however, it feels nice. With the cool air from the fan blowing on it, he can feel it begin to streak down between his shoulder blades. If a simple errant drop feels this pleasant, he can only imagine what the actual painting will feel like. He closes his eyes and waits for Yusuke to get to work.

Yusuke presses the brush softly on the back of his neck, swirling it lightly at the base. Akira draws in a sharp breath, the air hissing through his teeth. He releases the breath as slowly and evenly as he possibly can, ignoring the ever-growing flush on his face and anticipating the next stroke.

The next one is a long, drawn out line, traced slowly and deliberately down the length of his spine. His breath hitches in his throat, and he makes a concentrated effort not to dig his hips into the floor. Fuck. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. He’s totally getting turned on by this and he’s about to pop a boner right there on the middle of his goddamn bedroom floor and Yusuke’s going to get creeped out and things are going to get awkward between them and --

“Relax,” Yusuke says. Akira’s not sure if he’s imagining it or not, but his voice sounds a bit strained, too. He resists the urge to look back over his shoulder at him. For a second, he swears he hears Yusuke licking his lips before dipping the brush back into the glass of water, but quickly dismisses it as wishful thinking. He also tries to deny the pooling warmth in his stomach at the anticipation of being touched again. But he does as Yusuke says, taking a deep breath and allowing his muscles to slacken. 

Yusuke hums to himself as he grazes the bristles against Akira’s shoulder blade, crisscrossing his strokes in a delicate hatched pattern. His voice is soothing, as is the repetitive motion against his skin. Akira genuinely starts to relax, taking in the sensation of the light pressure and swift movement. As Yusuke moves on to the other shoulder blade and repeats the pattern, Akira thinks that he could probably fall asleep like this. He lets out a blissful little sigh, enjoying both the brush strokes and the way the fan cools the water droplets on his skin. The room is still hot, but for a moment he can actually forget about it in this moment of small comfort. 

When Yusuke withdraws the brush again, he goes back to feeling self-conscious. Is he being selfish? Is Yusuke really enjoying this, or is he just humoring him? Before he can fall too far down that rabbit hole, though, Yusuke pulls him back with feather light strokes. He sweeps along the curvature of his back muscles, pulling the lines down sharply towards the base of his spine. He pauses and admires his handiwork, watching as it glistens in the light. “You have a beautiful figure,” he says, reverence in his voice.

“Th-thanks,” Akira mumbles into the floor, his heartbeat pounding in his temples. Coupled with the sensation of the cold, wet brush on his sweating body, the praise is just too much. Whether or not he’s meant to interpret the admiration as sexual or purely aesthetic, it doesn’t matter much now. He lies as still on the floor as he possibly can, trying to conceal his raging hard-on. This was a terrible idea. He prays that Yusuke will get bored of this activity and head off to bed before he realizes something’s off.

“Would you please turn over for me?” Yusuke asks politely.

Fuck.

Akira squirms a bit in his spot, wincing. “I’d rather not,” he says, a little too quickly.

Yusuke quirks an eyebrow. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” he asks, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve been acting a bit strange. If you’re uncomfortable, we can stop.”

Akira takes a deep, shuddering breath. “That’s not it, I assure you,” he grunts. “It doesn’t feel uncomfortable at all. If anything, it’s… um, too comfortable.”

“Too comfortable?” Yusuke says thoughtfully, the gears turning in his brain. He ponders the meaning for a moment, then goes bright red. “... Oh!” He puts a hand to his mouth, surprised.

Akira’s face is a matching hue. “Yeah,” he mutters facedown into the floor. “Sorry.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine! I don’t mind, really,” he sputters, his face still flushed as he tucks a lock of his hair behind his ear. He gives a nervous laugh. “That’s a reasonable physical reaction. Come to think of it, this is rather intimate, isn’t it?” 

“A bit more than expected, yeah,” Akira admits. “It feels really good.”

To Akira’s surprise, Yusuke leans in close to his ear. “I can keep going if you like,” he whispers, his breath tickling against the back of his neck.

His heart leaps into his throat. He can’t believe this. Yusuke is flirting with him. Yusuke goddamn Kitagawa, the most adorably socially inept person he’s met in his entire life, is clearly and brazenly flirting with him. He’d be an idiot not to reciprocate before talking himself out of it. 

Akira swallows and nods. “Okay, yeah. Let’s keep going,” he says, and rolls over onto his back. He feels exposed and vulnerable with Yusuke’s eyes locked on his body, gazing at him with an intensity he’s never felt before. He makes a futile attempt not to draw attention to the tent he’s pitching in his boxers.

Yusuke, for a moment, seems lost for words. He shakes his head, smiling. “I can’t believe I was so fixated on having Ann model for me before. This is what I’ve been looking for the whole time. This is the inspiration I’ve craved.” He picks up the brush and dips it back into the water.

“What? You give me too much credit,” Akira says softly, closing his eyes. He waits eagerly for Yusuke to paint him again.

Yusuke obliges, streaking a cool, wet stripe along the length of his jawbone. He trails downward, flicking the brush in a zigzag pattern across his neck. “Not nearly enough credit,” he says, watching him quiver beneath him as he traces a sensuous line across his collarbone. “I understand now why I was failing to capture the true feeling of desire.” 

“Is that so?” he asks. Yusuke hums in affirmation, sweeping the brush in a broad X shape over his chest before resting it on his heart. Which, by the way, happens to be beating erratically at this point. Never in his wildest dreams did he ever see the night going like this. He’s terrified. He’s elated.

“I was setting myself up to fail,” Yusuke continues, lifting the brush from his skin again and dipping it back in the water. “I couldn’t capture the essence of desire because, well…” He looks away sheepishly. “I had never fully experienced it. That is, until tonight.” 

Akira swallows down the impulse to pinch himself awake. Is Yusuke implying what he thinks he’s implying? Suddenly, blurting out the sleep-deprived suggestion to have Yusuke paint his body earlier doesn’t seem like it was such a terrible idea after all.

He opens his eyes to see Yusuke staring hungrily at his torso, his cheeks flushed and his pupils dilated. His hand hovers over his stomach, his slender fingers clasped tightly around the brush handle. “Your body is the perfect canvas,” he murmurs, sending sparks through his body as he teases down the taut lines of his abs. “Perfection is fleeting and impermanent, like these marks on your skin. I may have nothing to show for it later, but in this moment… you’re my masterpiece.” Those words are corny as shit, but damn it, they’re working. He picks up the brush again, dips it, then swiftly presses it against the sensitive skin of his thigh. 

Akira moans loudly, unable to control the way his back arches. Startled by his own reaction, he shoots a panicked glance towards the bed. Thankfully, Morgana’s still fast asleep. “We should take this downstairs,” he whispers, pointing at their oblivious feline companion. Yusuke nods, and they slip quietly out of the room.

This is crazy, he thinks, as he grabs Yusuke’s hand and practically yanks him down the stairs into the restaurant. He certainly wasn’t expecting the night to go in this direction. After a quick search to make sure the blinds are drawn, he pushes him up against the wall, drawing in for a deep, searing kiss. Yusuke’s lips are soft and pliant, moving along with Akira’s as he wraps his arms around his waist, but suddenly he stops and pulls back.

“I forgot my brush,” Yusuke says, his eyes wide. 

He starts to turn around to go get it, but Akira grabs his shoulder with one hand, using the other one to cover his mouth in an attempt to stifle his laughter. Here they are in the heat of the moment, macking on each other in his uncle’s empty restaurant in the middle of the night, and this delightful idiot decides it’s the perfect time to go grab art supplies. He’s so ridiculous. His shoulders quake as he tries his best not to erupt into a giggle fit. He can’t help it. It’s just so absurd.

“What’s so funny?” Yusuke asks, cocking his head.

“You are,” he replies, absolutely giddy, drawing him in for another quick peck on the lips. “Forget about the brush. If you’re too busy painting, you’ll miss out on experiencing desire firsthand.”

Yusuke nods sagely at his advice. “You make a very good point,” he says. “We should get wrapped up in the moment.”

“That’s the spirit,” Akira says, trailing a finger down his chest. He continues tracing downward, coming to stop right under his navel. His eye catches on the noticeable bulge in Yusuke’s underwear, and he smiles. He’s pleased to see that he’s not the only one excited. “May I?” he asks, hooking a fingertip under the waistband and giving it a playful tug. 

Yusuke nods, sheepishly averting his gaze with a coquettish smile.

Akira swallows. He’s flying a bit blind here. Generally speaking, he knows what he’s doing -- he’s got a dick of his own, after all, and the mechanics of it aren’t exactly rocket science. His only other experience seeing an erect penis is from that accidental Mara fusion in the Velvet Room last week, but at least Yusuke’s doesn’t come with tentacles and teeth. At least he hopes not. Only one way to find out, though.

He’s got no mask or tuxedo to complete the look, but Akira swallows down his nerves and puts on his best, most confident Joker face he can. He pins Yusuke against the wall with one hand, and slides the other into his briefs, wrapping his fingers around his already half-hard cock. The resulting sigh of pleasure that escapes Yusuke’s lips gives him the confidence boost he needs to take a bit more initiative. He strokes his hand up and down in a slow rhythm, and is rewarded with a shuddering gasp. The sound is enough to make his own cock twitch.

Yusuke, not one to just observe, slips his hand inside Akira’s boxers, cupping gently against his erection. He mirrors Akira’s movements, using the same up and down motion to stimulate him.

Oh. Oh, that’s nice.

It’s different, having someone else touch him. Yusuke’s fingers are calloused from hours of gripping brushes, pencils, and swords alike, but his grip is soft and his strokes are tantalizingly slow. It leaves him aching for more.

Akira leans in and kisses him again, swiping his tongue over Yusuke’s bottom lip. He melds their lips together, hot and wet, engaging in a sensuous game of give and take. Yusuke tastes like coffee, with hints of the spicy hot curry he’s been mooching over the past couple days. Akira’s had to put in a little extra effort in the kitchen to appease Sojiro after Yusuke’s freeloading, but he decides it’s more than worth it if it culminates in moments like this.

They’re both getting worked up from the exploration, and Akira’s the first to pick up his pace, tightening his grip on Yusuke as his stroking becomes more frantic and needy. Yusuke mirrors his movements, kissing him for dear life and desperately trying to keep up with him. It doesn’t take long for them to get close to the brink.

Before they know it, they’re both spent, panting heavily and leaning against the wall. They’re covered in sweat, and they’ve made quite a mess of themselves, but it’s nothing a few paper towels and a quick run to the laundromat won’t fix. 

“That was… fascinating,” Yusuke says, running a hand through his hair.

“It sure was,” Akira says, feeling blissed out. “Enough inspiration for one evening?”

Yusuke grins and nods. “This was quite the experience. I doubt I’ll be forgetting tonight any time soon.”

“Yeah, me neither.” 

They stand in silence for a few moments, stopping to catch their breath and soak in the afterglow.

“Say, Akira…”

“Yeah?”

“I rather enjoyed having you as my muse tonight. Would you be opposed to inspiring me again in the near future?” Yusuke asks shyly, brushing his hand up against Akira’s.

“Not at all,” Akira says with a smile. He takes his hand and laces their fingers together, then leans in for a chaste kiss. “I’d like that very much.”

Not a bad trade-off for air conditioning, he thinks.


End file.
